(I)
When tomorrow stumbles on muted murmurs
And your barren women howls warbling lullabies like lame men lost in the shade of time;
.
When those bare bones and sleeveless skeletons
Worn on your skin of bodiless structures shall fade,
And your erupted empire consumes no more grapes but the blood of sterile cherubs;
.
When wars are led astray by your kiss of tattered regalia,
And your chuckles are bandits to tender souls,
We shall remind you of the pathway to silence;
the clues to her memory of stocked despair…
We, the troubled waters of a forgotten estate,
We shall tell you of the story that birthed your throne;
the tale of your yellow moon that retires at dusk
And the moans of your children on voiceless nights.
We shall say to you, welcome back home, Bangladesh…
The stone that settles on roofless homes…
